


The Heart of the Matter

by FanaticShipper07, Mentally_Unstable



Series: Not-So-Divine Intervention [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Constantine (TV), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angry Leonard Snart, Barry Dies! D;, Barry gets roasted, Bored or just a simp? The world may never know, Cisco got famous on youtube because of it, Drinking, Friends to almost-more-than-friends, Himbo Apollo, I swear i wasn’t thinking about corona when i came up with it, John almost fucking DIES, John has Attitude, John has a soft spot for kids, John has an anger kink, John pays no attention to Len, Len confusing feelings with the need for adrenaline, Leonard Snart is a pun master, Leonard is the ultimate killer, Leonard uses puns at the wrong moments, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Near-death Experiences, No offense to Ohio, No offense to actual Greek mythology, Not the coronavirus tho ;-), Overuse of pet names, Plague, Pouty John, Protective John Constantine, Protective Leonard Snart, Quarantine, Sass-master Leonard, Scars, Smoking, The Angel of Columbus, Tiptoeing Around Feelings, “Wanna fuck?” ™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27261928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanaticShipper07/pseuds/FanaticShipper07, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mentally_Unstable/pseuds/Mentally_Unstable
Summary: Upon getting a call from a certain exorcist, Len was surprised that he was asked to do a favor. What he was more surprised about, however, was how he actually wanted to do it.
Relationships: John Constantine/Leonard Snart
Series: Not-So-Divine Intervention [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906723
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	The Heart of the Matter

Walking down the alleyways of Central City, Leonard Snart couldn’t help but feel bored. He had robbed a bank just last week, but the high he had gained from it quickly diminished into nothing. He wasn’t quite sure if it was because the Flash was becoming too predictable, or if he was simply getting too _good,_ but it did not give him the same high as years past. Sure, his banter with Barry was the usual, and he still had some fun with it, but it seemingly wasn’t enough to stop the itch for more.

Len needed a new heist; a new _game_ to play. The Central City alarm systems were child’s play to him at this point, so perhaps he needed to go out of the city; the Green Arrow _had_ been a bit more active lately, anyway.

Before he could think further on this subject, his burner cell’s ringtone broke him out of his thoughts. Patting his pockets to find that it was the one he did his usual business on, he flipped it open. It could either be his saving grace or a call about how Mick had set their safehouse on fire once again; he could only hope that it was the former.

“Welcome to Wynter’s Antique Shop, this is Leonard. How may I help you?” he answered it with his usual drawl, sighing at the cover-up introduction.

_“There’s an_ antique _I need to get my hands on. Think you could help me out, mate?”_

His eyebrows shifted slightly at the accent, the familiarity apparent, “That would depend on what you want. How old would you say it is?”

_“From around…”_ a pause, pages heard turning through the phone, _“a thousand BC?”_

The thief shook his head lightly, the answer confirming who he had suspected this was in the first place, “What the hell are you up to now, kid?”

_“You wanna take the job or not?”_ the Brit questioned in lieu of answer.

“I think I’ll need a little more information than when it was _made_ to accept your job offer,” Len reasoned even though he had already made up his mind about it, his day-to-day life boring enough.

_“I haven’t got time to explain. Either yes or no.”_

Letting out a low hum, the villain leaned his body up against the side of the alley, glancing down at his nails as if they were more interesting than this conversation, “I might be a little too busy the next few weeks, _John._ I am not sure if I can clear up my schedule enough for you.”

There was a long sigh over the line, _“Bloody fantastic. Give us a call when you’re done being an arse.”_

“What item do you need that you can’t get yourself?” he questioned readily, not quite caring for the sarcasm on the other end of the line.

_“Musical instrument,”_ the exorcist replied shortly. _“Just so happens to be located right near you.”_

“John, if you wanted me to stop by your place so you can serenade me, you did not have to go through all this _trouble,”_ Leonard joked lightly, stuffing his open hand into his coat pocket with a small pause. “Are you talking about the Golden Lyre inside of that museum? That is the only one that I can think of with that date in mind.”

_“That’s the one,”_ the other agreed, giving no comment on the villain’s suggestion.

“Are you going to tell me what you need it for, then? Or am I supposed to stay in the dark for this one?”

There was a moment of silence before the demonologist responded, _“The less you know, the better.”_

Kicking himself off the wall as he exited the alleyway to instead move toward his safehouse, the thief could only roll his eyes, “I am fairly certain that we _both_ know I don’t like doing my job that way. It makes for messy planning and unexpected surprises.”

_“I wouldn’t ask unless it was important, alright? How’s about a little trust, mate?”_

“I thought you were somewhat of a thief yourself,” Leonard said instead, not quite answering the question just so that he may piss the other off just a little bit more.

_“Honour among thieves and all that,”_ came the distracted reply.

“What I _meant_ by my statement was: Why can’t you just go get it _yourself?_ I thought you were a lone-wolf type.”

There was a quiet shuffling before John answered, _“I’m a little… preoccupied at the moment. Can’t make the trip over to grab it myself.”_

Making it to the front of his building, he pulled the door open to simply see his usual bar area, not bothering to say hello to his subordinate as he continued talking, “So I am only the convenient choice, here?”

_“I don’t make a habit of asking for favours. Convenience isn’t a concern.”_

The brunet stayed silent on the line for a few moments as he mulled the whole situation over, soon figuring that John would tell him more information when he accepted the job, “What is the time frame?”

_“Soon as possible.”_

“I can’t help you if you are too vague with this. If you give me a time span, I can do it within that frame. ‘Soon as possible’ could mean a lot of fucking things.”

There were a few unidentifiable noises over the phone before the exorcist said harshly, _“This is life or bloody_ death. _I haven’t got the luxury of a time table for you.”_ John let out a huff, adding after a moment, _“Latest would be a week, I’d say.”_

“Then consider it done before then. Where do you want it delivered?”

_“Just outside of Columbus, Ohio, if you could.”_

“That’s doable. I’ll drop by sometime soon, so stay on the lookout.”

_“Don’t set foot in the city, under any circumstances,”_ the man said seriously.

“Yeah? What would happen if I do?” Len asked more so curiously then challengingly, fully knowing that he should likely do what the man said at the moment.

_“You really don’t want to find out, I promise you that,”_ the exorcist responded, the turning of more pages becoming audible as he stopped speaking.

“When you say shit like that, it only makes me want to go into town more,” he said in his usual manner, ignoring the curious looks coming his way.

_“It isn’t a pretty sight. Surprised you hadn’t heard anything about it by now,”_ John commented, _“the death-count is high enough for people to take note.”_

“Maybe that is why it hasn’t been mentioned. If the death count is high and it is reported, it would only send everyone into panic. What is going on there?”

The Brit let out a sigh, _“Sickness. It’s tearing through the city too quickly, not to mention the omens all around the damn place.”_

“Is it the Egyptian _echoes_ again? Or something more exciting this time?” he questioned as the corner of his mouth upturned, grabbing a glass from underneath the counter.

_“Nothing Egyptian. But I have my suspicions, which is why I need the Lyre.”_

“I am going to guess that you aren’t going to tell me your suspicions until after I get there?”

_“You’d guess correctly,”_ the exorcist agreed, a loud noise sounding over the line. _“I’ve gotta go,”_ he continued hurriedly.

Pouring a shot into the glass, Leonard downed it without second thought before answering, “Alright, kid. Don’t die before I bring it to you.”

_“Wasn’t planning on it,”_ John replied stiffly before hanging up.

Stuffing his phone into his pocket after he heard the usual buzz of the end of a call, Len couldn’t help but sigh at what he had gotten himself into. He didn’t know everything about this whole ordeal despite how he usually _liked_ knowing, but somehow he was… _okay_ with it. Chalking it up to being due to his severe boredom and nothing more, the villain exited the bar as quickly as he had come. Robbing a large museum with less than a week of preparation time was easy enough, but the small voice telling him to do it as soon as possible made it all the more exciting.

The faster he completed this, the more time he would be able to spend _not_ bored in Ohio, and that was simply all he cared about.

* * *

  
  


Constantine dragged a hand through his hair, the other shaking with minute tremors as it held a cigarette. He needed to flip the makeshift sign to ‘closed’ before anyone else came in begging for his service, but the thought of standing made his legs protest. Pressing his palm against the wall, he forced himself toward the door, turning the sign and closing the blinds against the midday sun.

Healing had never been Constantine’s gig; he was more of a _magic parlour trick_ kind of warlock. While everyone knew healing magic brought a cost to the castor, as all spells did, most magicians were able to heal with only a little headache in return, maybe some aching joints that would last for a few hours. Constantine’s magic lived at the opposite end of the spectrum, a place where healing magic had no right to exist at all. That wasn’t to say that he hadn’t dabbled in light magic before, but every magic user he had met had recoiled when they saw how he wielded it. 

The exorcist sank heavily into the chair he had vacated, bringing the cigarette to his lips for a fix. The nicotine did nothing to combat the pain radiating through every inch of his body, but it calmed him down. He turned his head, seeing the fuzzy outline of Gary hovering a few feet to his right.

“Go on, say it all you want, Gaz,” he directed toward the echo of his friend, wishing -not for the first time- that it was his actual friend.

_“You’re going to get yourself killed,”_ Gary stated, the sentiment uncomfortably close to the things the living man used to say to him.

Constantine raised his eyebrows in mock-surprise, “And here I thought you _wanted_ me dead. Never knew you cared.” 

He turned his head away from the apparition, taking another drag from his cigarette. He knew Gaz was right, knew the shaking would only get worse if he kept at it, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Was he supposed to call up Zee and say, _‘Hey, I know we shagged and then I left, but I actually need your help?’_ He didn’t have very many friends and even fewer that could still stand to look at him.

A rapid knocking on the door drew his attention, irritating the already pounding headache between his eyes. Moving toward the door slowly and ignoring the way Gary’s eyes followed him, he opened the door.

“I know it says that you’re closed,” a woman began, speaking hurriedly. “But my daughter- I heard you can make her better? Please help her, I can pay you anything!”

Constantine stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray lying on the table, pulling the door all the way open without verbal confirmation. The woman’s face lit up, the tear stains on her cheeks bright in the artificial light of his temporary office. The exorcist watched as she ushered a little girl forward. She couldn’t have been older than six or seven, with a handkerchief pressed over her mouth and her hair falling loose from its pig-tails.

“Take a seat,” he said softly, trying to keep the raspy edge out of his voice for her sake.

The little girl nodded sluggishly, plopping into the seat while her hand still clutched her mother’s. After the brief warning to the both of them to close their eyes, Constantine held onto the girl’s free hand as the other reached into his chest.

Life force wasn’t something many magic users played around with: once it was gone, you were dead. For most, death was a permanent destination. For Constantine, that wasn’t quite the case. It wasn’t an excuse for the flippancy with which he handled his own, but desperate times.

Releasing her hand, he pulled his remaining life force into two, nearly wincing at the pain as he did so. Pushing the bright light into her chest, he shoved the rest back into his own, taking a deep breath as it settled.

“Stephanie, can you hear me? Sweetheart!” the mother called out, touching her child’s face with urgency. Finally the girl opened her eyes, dropping her bloodied handkerchief with hands that were significantly less shaky than they had been moments before. The woman wasted no time, pulling Stephanie into a tight hug and giving Constantine a warm look. The sight was still so unusual that it brought a sinking feeling to his stomach. “I could never repay you, but I’ll give you anything you want.”

He raised a hand to gesture before tucking it into his pocket swiftly. “No payment necessary,” he replied, resisting the urge to cough.

The woman exhaled an awed breath, “The stories are true. You really are the Angel of Columbus.”

The demonologist’s face screwed up, his disbelief clear as he asked, “Is that really what they’re calling me?”

“Thank you so much,” she breathed, ignoring his commentary as her child stood up and wrapped her arms around Constantine’s waist.

Stephanie clutched tightly, whispering, “Thank you, angel.” Constantine couldn’t find it in himself to correct her.

As the two left, Constantine lit up another cigarette. He couldn’t keep up the charade of a good-hearted healer for much longer, especially given the declining state of his own health. He had to save those kids, even if it brought him closer to the edge every time, but the mysterious plague circulating through the city was the least of his worries if he didn’t find an alternative quickly.

The warlock had been scrying, looking for trouble wherever it wanted to show its face, and Columbus had lit up like a Christmas tree. There hadn’t been much in the way of trouble when he arrived, but within a few weeks the sickness had spread through the city faster than the fire in Chicago. The cosmic scales had already been out of balance, but there was something else about the situation that didn’t sit right with him. Crows had been nearly following him around town, the clearest omen he’d seen in a while. Death had followed, as one might expect, but it was more than that.

Gut feelings could often be more reliable than anything else, a notion Constantine had learned the hard way a number of times. The Lyre would be like putting a plaster over a raging third degree burn, but it would do a better job than his own failing life force. For now, he needed to figure out exactly what was making people sick before it wiped out everyone - himself included.

* * *

Planning the heist went by quicker than usual, his hands steady as he easily disarmed the security system in the Central City Museum. It normally took him a few days at _least_ to think through every possible outcome and event that may happen during any given robbery, only to add on the numerous plans he had to combat against said problems. The difference this time was that there was a time restraint, for _whatever_ reason, and he did not want to disappoint the man who deemed him worthy enough to call for a favor. The small whisper at the back of his mind was trying to give him an even _bigger_ reason for why he had agreed, but Len simply ignored it for what he deemed to be the only one: he was bored out of his fucking _mind._

The Flash had not been so exciting lately, apparently having bigger foes than _him_ at the moment, which only seemed to make Leonard infuriated. If he had to do a favor for a man he had met a few months ago to gain at least _some_ type of rush, then he would. Even if it meant that he had to _help_ people and ruin part of his villain persona.

The security system was quickly turning into a piece of cake, clearly not having been updated since his last heist. Taking only thirty seconds to dismantle it entirely, he eventually sauntered into the main lobby of the museum as if he had owned the place. His legs immediately led him toward the Ancient Greek part of the museum, the prized Golden Lyre sitting in the very center in it. 

Ignoring the other items that he could very well steal if he so wished, he secured the gloves that rested on his hands. He was going to be careful about not leaving any evidence here, just like he always was. Eventually arriving at the glass casing, Leonard took his cold gun from its holster and hit the glass with the butt of the gun, watching the glass fall to his feet.

Gloved hands grabbing a hold of the Golden Lyre, Leonard placed it safely into a black bag before securing it onto his back. By his calculations, Barry would be here any second now and he couldn’t care less at the moment. The small thrill of fighting the hero was going to be nothing compared to what he may see once he arrived in Ohio.

Waltzing out of the themed room toward the lobby, he was eventually greeted by a yellow bolt of lightning nearly passing him by, only causing his hand to clutch at his gun even tighter as he held it up toward the hero.

“Long time, no see, Cold,” the speedster said conversationally, momentarily pausing in his movement to talk to the villain.

Pulling the trigger of his gun once he saw the hero stop fully, Leonard rolled his eyes, “As much as I do love our usual hero-villain _banter,_ I am really on a time limit here.”

The hero shook his head, giving an exaggerated shrug, “I think you might have to reschedule. I don’t think your sentence is going to be a short one.”

“Says the one who kept villains locked up in the _basement._ You know what they say about criminals?” Leonard asked rhetorically, sending another blast toward the younger man as the ice stuck Barry’s feet to the floor, “It takes one to _snow_ one~”

“You’re making jokes now? That’s a _slippery_ slope,” the brunet commented before he began vibrating his molecules, his form blurring before becoming solid once more. One of his feet had escaped the ice, but the other remained stuck.

He sent out another zap at the Flash’s foot after increasing the power, taking a slow step toward the exit, “My jokes are _great,_ they always seem to make you _freeze.”_

“What’s the rush? Are you getting yourself into some _hot water?_ ”

“Let’s just say, if you _stop me,_ a lot of people will die because of _you,”_ the thief said in a deep sing-song voice, taking the calculated guess that that would stop the hero from doing anything more.

As predicted, Barry frowned but stopped struggling for the moment, “What? Why do you need a musical instrument for that?”

“Not _sure,_ I am simply doing a favor,” was the bland response to the question, not quite wanting to elaborate upon it.

“A favor for _who_ exactly?” the hero asked skeptically.

Pausing at the question, Leonard eventually offered slowly, “A… _friend_ of sorts.”

“Last time I checked, villains don’t have friends,” Barry scoffed in reply.

“Last time _I_ checked, heroes weren’t little bitches who take up too much space, but I kept that to _myself,”_ he snapped, shooting the speedster in the chest with the highest setting before otherwise blowing the mist coming off of the gun cooly, “If you want to be responsible for a whole town dying, by all means, stop me. It’s not as if you haven’t caused many deaths _before.”_

The hero was rendered speechless, attempting to reply but only opening and closing his mouth a few times.

Staring at Barry for a few moments before blinking slowly, his lips fell into a flat line, “Are you letting me go or not? I need to know if I have to beat your ass more.”

Barry cleared his throat, “Uh, I- Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Good,” he said, putting his gun back into its holster before turning to leave from where he had started, “I’ll be more playful _next time,_ Flash. This is a one-time deal.”

Exiting the museum without any type of struggle, Leonard hopped into the car he had - regretfully - agreed to let Mick drive. His plan ended up different than he had expected, but for the sake of time he was fine with it. All he had to do was hop on his plane and fly to Ohio, and maybe _then_ he would find out what the actual _fuck_ was going on.

* * *

  
  


The demonologist exhaled a cloud of smoke, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other held onto the cigarette. The rendezvous point wasn’t a far walk, but he could already feel a headache forming between his eyes. Constantine didn’t mind as long as Len took his advice and stayed out of the damned city. He wouldn’t have asked for a favour if it hadn’t been a dire situation, but he didn’t plan to offer up another victim for the plague while he was at it.

Turning a corner and coming up on the address, he dropped his cigarette to the ground and flattened it beneath his shoe, shoving his shaky hand into his other pocket before approaching.

A familiar brunet turned his head at the sound of John approaching, the man not quite distinguishable without his usual blue parka on, a simple black turtleneck replacing it instead. Leonard pushed off of, what was presumably, a _stolen_ car before making his way to stand in front of the blond as well, eyes looking him up and down as he stated simply, “You look like shit.”

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” he replied sarcastically, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Len raised an eyebrow in question before asking cockily, “Is _that_ what you say to the guy who saved your ass in less than two days?”

“It’s not _my_ arse I’m worried about saving, mate,” Constantine answered with an eye roll. “But I appreciate the quick _recovery time.”_

“I’m always quick, I take _pride_ in it,” the villain said offhandedly, moving over toward the car to pop the trunk open.

The blond resisted the urge to cough as he made a show of looking over the other’s form, “I’d like to take a little pride in it too, love.”

He threw a knowing look toward the other over his shoulder before grabbing the black duffle bag, “Are you _really_ supposed to be flirting on a job like this?”

Constantine shrugged, “If I didn’t flirt on the job, I’d never get the chance to.”

_“Right,_ because the demons never stop,” the thief more stated than asked, slinging the duffle over his shoulder, “I’m guessing the flirting normally works for you with that face of yours, anyway.”

“Usually doesn’t hurt to try.”

Letting out a small hum as if he were agreeing before he shut the trunk fully, Len stuffed his free hand into his pants pocket, “Before I give you any of this shit, I would like to know more information about what the fuck you need it for.”

“All that magic nonsense… You wouldn’t understand it anyway,” he excused easily, hedging the question.

The villain took a step forward, staring at him with a serious look in his face, _“Try me.”_

Constantine took an instinctual half-step back, shrugging, “You’re already here, what’s the fuss about?”

Another large step, “I like knowing things, and I don’t like not knowing this, so spill.”

The exorcist raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, willing them not to give him away, “Alright, alright, if it’ll get you off my case.”

Taking note of the shakiness of the shorter man’s hands, he placed his own on his hip, “What is it, then?”

“City-wide plague, magical healing artifact… Not much to tell, mate.”

“What about you? You left that part of the explanation out. Are you sick too, or are you just doing something idiotic?”

Constantine shoved his hands back into his coat pockets, “Would you believe me if I said neither?”

“I know you haven’t lied to me yet, so _possibly,”_ the brunet responded skeptically, something hidden behind his eyes.

“I’m not sick,” the exorcist huffed, clearing his throat to stave off a coughing fit.

The villain’s eyes narrowed, “As you have _said.”_

Constantine looked around, keeping his gaze away from the other, “I might be a _little_ idiotic.”

“What the hell did you _do?”_ Len asked, clear spaces in between each word.

The warlock shrugged, offering, “Nothing I haven’t done before. Hasn’t killed me yet.”

“That still doesn’t answer my _question, John,”_ he drawled the name out darkly.

“I did what I had to do,” he replied more roughly. “I didn’t ask for your help just to get a bloody interrogation.”

“And I didn’t help you just so that you can look like you’re near-death. Are you going to answer my question or not?”

Constantine shot the thief a glare, “I used some _magic._ Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Len stared right back, unfazed, “That doesn’t quite _mean_ anything to me, kid. I don’t know shit about magic.”

“That’s what I said. Even if I explained, it wouldn’t mean a thing. What’s the bleeding point?”

“Just because I don’t know anything about it doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t understand it if you _explained_ it to me.”

Constantine ran a hand through his hair with a huff, “What if I don’t _want_ to explain it? I already told you about the important things. Isn’t that enough?”

The taller raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “I think what you do to yourself is rather fucking important, too. You still owe me that favor.”

The blond rolled his eyes, waving a hand to gesture to himself, “Like I said, not dead yet.”

After an extremely slow, judgemental blink, Leonard eventually started to move toward the town, “If that is your logic, then so be it.”

“Oi! Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demanded without hesitation, moving to keep up with the other.

The thief glanced back at him as if he were an idiot, continuing his way toward it, “Where does it _look_ like I’m going?”

“The place I told you _not_ to go?” Constantine questioned in the same manner.

“Ding, _ding,”_ was the sarcastic response, twirling his finger in the air in celebration, “we have a _winner.”_

The exorcist moved to block his way, “I told you not to enter the bloody _city._ Can’t you listen to _one_ piece of advice for the sake of your damn life?”

“You say that as if I give a damn about my life, John,” the villain sidestepped around him, nearing the borders of the town.

_“I_ give a damn!” Constantine exclaimed, pausing his steps.

Stopping just before he passed the sign, he turned around slowly, “I was planning on helping you out anyway, John. Either way, I won’t be dead _yet,”_ he dismissed, mimicking the other’s accent at the last part.

“The city isn’t safe,” Constantine argued, crossing his arms across his chest.

“You said you were going to fix it, so I would say it’s safe _enough.”_

He huffed, rubbing his hand across his cheek, “It’s _not_ safe enough. If I had tried to fix the whole bloody city on my own, I’d be six feet under right now.”

“Then you won’t be alone, and both of us won’t die. Simple as that,” Len dismissed, finally stepping into the town without any hesitation.

The demonologist let out a curse, muttering a spell beneath his breath without much thought, slipping his hand into his pocket once the magic had settled. The thief was lucky that Constantine cared as much as he did; otherwise, he wouldn’t last very long with that idiotic stubborn streak of his.

Turning around after masking his confusion, he gestured for the blond to follow him with a small tilt to his head, “Are you coming or not, kid?”

Constantine cleared his throat before walking forward to catch up, “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

Adjusting the bag upon his shoulder, Len’s eyes quickly scanned the surroundings, “Alright, what is your plan, then? I am assuming you have a few.”

“The lyre has special healing properties and what-not. Use it on the city? Poof, no more plague.”

“That’s _it?”_

The magic-user grinned, “Some would call it _magical.”_

“You didn’t make any backup plans _whatsoever?”_ Leonard questioned skeptically, eyeing him lightly.

“I don’t need one,” Constantine answered offhandedly, knowing full well that his actual plan was much more convoluted than he let on. It wouldn’t do to get the villain too invested - despite the fact that the other clearly wasn’t letting the issue drop.

“That’s what people who almost _die_ after every job say.”

The blond coughed into his sleeve, swallowing hard before replying, “I’m not much worried about dying.”

“If you die, then everyone in this town does as well. I think it would be bright to put a _little_ more care into everything.”

Constantine crossed his arms with a glare, “Go ahead, criticize me all you want, but I don’t see _you_ getting your hands dirty.”

Stopping in his tracks, Len gestured toward the bag he was holding, “I stole this for you in two days, and then proceeded to somehow become an internet sensation overnight from what I said to the Flash. I think that means I got my fucking _hands dirty.”_

The blond let out a breath, giving his equivalent to a genuine apology: “You’re right, I didn’t mean that.” He shut his eyes for a moment, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “A little stressed at the moment, mate.”

“That is understandable, we all get like that,” the taller amended cooly, watching John’s hand movements, “You have been rather busy, anyway.”

The exorcist gave a slight laugh, “That’s one word for it.”

“I will pick up some of the slack, you just focus on your thing,” the villain more so stated than offered.

Constantine took the lead, weaving his way through the streets to reach his modified store-front. With the sickness going around, it hadn't been difficult to set up a shop for ‘magical healing’ even if the location wasn’t the best. “I’m gonna need that lyre, now,” he commented, stalling outside of his temporary base, resisting the itch to grab a cigarette from his jacket pocket.

Len took the duffle bag off of his shoulder before handing it over toward him, “And here I was, trying to be a gentleman. Never trying that again.”

“I always love a gentleman,” he said, giving the villain a once-over as he took the offered bag, “but I’m on a tight schedule at the moment.”

Letting out a low hum, the thief adjusted the sleeves covering his arms, “Maybe we will see how much you love one once your schedule _clears up.”_ Not dwelling on what he said whatsoever, Leonard turned to face the shop fully, “Is this where you’re staying for the time being?”

The exorcist coughed, out of awkwardness rather than illness, “Something like that.”

Blue eyes flickered toward him questioningly, a slight smirk rising to his lips, “I didn’t think you were the type to feel awkward, _John.”_

“Life is full of bloody surprises,” he replied with a huff, pushing open the door without any more fanfare. He didn’t bother flicking on the lights, taking a seat as soon as he was able.

Finding and turning on the lights anyway despite how John seemed to ignore them, the villain ventured into the room slowly as if he were making mental notes of things, “What is the plan now, then? You have your lyre.”

“I’m gonna use the thing, obviously,” the demonologist answered, running an unsteady hand through his hair before opening the bag containing the instrument.

Len eventually moved to stand behind him, peering over his shoulder, “How do you do that, exactly?”

“It’s an instrument, mate. How do you think?” Constantine asked sarcastically, dropping the bag on the floor and settling the lyre in his lap.

“I am more so asking what happens _after_ than _before, John,”_ the thief stated coldly, crossing his arms over his chest at the sarcasm.

Before the Brit could respond, the door opened and a man stepped in, his eyes wide as he called, “Is the angel here?”

Constantine sighed, placing the instrument back into the duffle bag and shoving his hands back into his pockets. He didn’t stand, since his previous aches had multiplied, but the intruder didn’t seem to mind.

With his eyes focused solely on the magic-user and completely ignoring the villain in the room, the man sighed in relief, “Are the rumors true? Are you really an angel?”

_“Yes,”_ Len drawled out immediately without any hesitation whatsoever, leaning his elbows against the back of Constantine’s chair as a smirk settled upon his face, “this _is_ the angel that you are seeking. What are you here for?”

Constantine shut his eyes to hide his immense irritation, giving no comment on the situation. This sort of encounter was bound to happen at some point, it was his own fault for letting this ‘angel’ business get so out of hand.

“My daughter, she’s- she’s getting sicker. I didn’t want to turn to magic but there’s no cure and she’s all I have,” the man explained hurriedly, nearly in tears as he pleaded with the exorcist.

The blond cleared his throat, “I don’t make house calls. Bring her back here and I’ll help you.” It may have come off a little blunt, which he oftentimes was, but he wasn’t going to regain any of his health by using all his energy _before_ casting a spell.

The man nodded a few times, muttering _‘thank you’_ s under his breath as he shut the door behind him.

Blue eyes glanced down at the blond, some type of playfulness in them, _“‘Angel’,_ huh?”

Constantine groaned, leaning further back in his chair, “Don’t even _start,_ mate.”

“How long has that been your _nickname?_ I thought you weren’t the _‘hero’_ type,” the thief asked somewhat jokingly, looking down at him. “Has that happened a lot?”

“Must have started just after I got here, but I hadn’t heard anyone say it until recently. And I’m not a hero,” the exorcist huffed, crossing his arms.

Len raised a questioning eyebrow at the quick dismissal, “You _are_ saving people out of the goodness of your heart. I do believe that makes you akin to a ‘hero’ of sorts, _John.”_

The magic-user scoffed, “The goodness of my _heart?_ Where the hell are you getting _that_ from?”

“Call it _intuition,”_ the taller dismissed, pushing off of the chair so that he was no longer leaning against it.

“Wouldn’t put too much faith in _your_ intuition, then.”

“Says the one who is helping a family without getting anything in _return.”_

Constantine reached into his pocket for a cigarette, placing it between his lips without lighting it. While he wasn’t doing it out of the goodness of his heart, he didn’t have the strength to explain the truth. The villain probably had a low enough opinion of him already. Instead, he lied, “When they stop bloody _pestering_ me, that’s payment enough.”

“If you _say so,”_ the villain said, clearly not believing him as he walked around the table to sit down at a chair of his own, “though I wouldn’t necessarily call that payment.”

“Good thing I didn’t ask you then, huh?”

“Anyone with common sense would see it as I do, but if you want to act like a _tough guy,_ then I won’t _stop you, Angel,”_ he drawled out the nickname, staring at the cigarette pointedly before crossing his arms over his chest.

The exorcist rolled his eyes, “It’s not acting and I’m not a damn _angel.”_

A low hum, “It seems like you are in _denial,_ Angel.”

“It’s not denial when I’m _right,”_ the blond argued shortly, “and quit using that accursed nickname, already.”

“I am only seeing if I _like_ it or not, though I do think it’s going to stick,” Leonard replied, glancing around the room before asking, “Do you have any alcohol here, or am I going to have to watch you do shit sober?”

He raised a hand to gesture toward a cabinet on the wall, “Alcohol’s over there, glasses too.”

Moving over toward said direction, the thief pried open the cabinet before grabbing a random bottle and a glass, “Are you going to be using the lyre now, then?”

“After I take care of the kid, yeah.”

Len brought the objects over toward the table, raising a questioning eyebrow, “Wasn’t the lyre supposed to help everyone?”

Constantine rubbed the back of his neck before replying, “May have… bent the truth a little on that one.”

He released a heavy sigh as he poured the liquid into the glass, “What the hell is the _truth,_ then?”

“I never said I _lied,_ just twisted the truth up a bit,” the warlock defended with a shrug.

_“John,”_ was the beginning of the slightly irritated response, Len finally sitting down again before repeating himself, “what the hell is it?”

The door opened again before the exorcist could form an answer, the same man from earlier holding a little girl’s hand as he stepped into the shop. There was another sigh that escaped the villain’s mouth before he otherwise covered it up with his drink, deciding to pay more attention to _that_ at the moment as if to give some privacy to whatever was about to happen.

Constantine shoved his cigarette back into his pocket, standing up and gesturing for the girl to take his seat. She appeared to be in the same state as the last one, but she wasn’t coughing up blood at the moment, which was always a positive. Not wasting time, since he had so little of it to spare, the exorcist warned the girl to close her eyes before repeating the process that had become painfully familiar. Shoving his life force back into his chest hurt a lot more than the times previous, but he had probably felt worse before.

As the magic-user took a few wobbly steps back, the father moved forward to check on his daughter, speaking to her in a parental tone that just grated on Constantine’s nerves.

Leonard was eventually at his side with calculating eyes, a hand raising to hold the other’s shoulder so that he wouldn’t move anymore, “Why do you look shittier than before, John?”

“That’s a bit rude,” he huffed in lieu of answer, not bothering to pretend that he wasn’t leaning on the villain for support.

“It is true, though. You have looked better,” the brunet said rather bluntly, bringing the other toward the chair he was in previously.

The man left the shop with his daughter, thanking Constantine profusely as the exorcist settled into the chair with a wince, “I’ve felt better, too.”

“Then you should probably stop whatever,” he gestured to the door, _“that_ was.”

“Don’t think I have enough for another one if I tried,” the blond replied, retrieving the cigarette from his pocket with a shaking hand.

“Enough of _what, exactly?”_

Constantine shrugged, answering casually, “Life force.”

A slow blink, the thief restating, “Your _life force.”_

He gave a nod, “Yep. Only kind of healing magic I know.”

“So, _essentially,”_ Len started off with a strangely calm voice, downing the rest of his drink before putting it onto the table not too gently, “you’ve been a fucking _idiot_ and have been _dying_ this whole time?”

The exorcist took a few moments before replying, watching the villain, “Not exactly _dying,_ but…”

Face dropping from where his lips were already lying flat, he let out a loud huff through his nose before making a grab for the lyre on the table, “Was _this_ going to kill you at all, too? Was this all this job fucking _was?”_

Constantine shook his head, “The opposite, actually. That thing’s the reason I’m _not_ gonna give up the ghost today.” He shrugged again, averting his eyes from the villain, “That’s why I needed it so soon.”

Taking a deep breath in, Len eventually sighed it out as he placed the Golden Lyre onto the table before leaning against it, facing the blond fully, “How about you explain _everything_ this time before I get more pissed off at you, _John.”_

“What’s to explain?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know. “Besides, ‘pissed off’ is a right hot look on you.”

Rolling his eyes at the remark before otherwise ignoring it, he moved to stand in front of the sitting man, “You know damn fucking _well_ what you have to explain.”

Constantine let out a long sigh, responding, “Lyre heals me, I use magic to call another damn _celestial_ to clean up their mess. Not a lot to say.”

The villain stared at him for a long few seconds with a deadpan expression, “That is _it?”_

“That’s it,” he confirmed before coughing into his arm. For being as close to his own death bed as he could be, Constantine could have sworn that he had felt worse in the past. At least it was his _own_ doing this time, not some demon with a grudge.

Len continued to stare at him with skeptical eyes before finally looking away with a shake to his head, “You should use the lyre now, then. You look like you are going to die any minute now.”

“Hand it over, then,” the exorcist requested, voice rough from his coughing.

Picking it up off the table before _almost_ giving the other the instrument, the villain stopped in his tracks, “What is the catch with this?”

Constantine blinked innocently, “Catch? What do you mean?”

“Isn’t there a catch to using magic?”

The blond held his hand out for the instrument, “It’s nothing that’ll do any worse than I already have.”

“Like _what?”_ the thief questioned, moving the object farther away.

Constantine sighed, dropping his arm back into his lap, “Does it really matter?”

“Yes, I would say so,” Leonard answered, leaning against the end of the table in front of the demonologist.

He glanced at the echo that still stood in the corner of the room, letting out a bigger sigh, replying, “It just shaves a little off the lifespan. Nothing too drastic, since I’m using it just on myself.” He slightly raised his hand to flip off the ghost before continuing, “It won’t kill me, honest.”

The brunet ignored the motion easily, as if used to this sort of strange behavior, before calculatingly handing the instrument back over, “Fine, if you say so.”

Constantine pulled the instrument up to his chest, fiddling with the strings for a few moments and humming a few notes under his breath. The exorcist wasn’t well-versed in instrument-use, but the strings were self-explanatory. Moving it until he found a more comfortable position, he stalled for as long as he could before plucking at the strings. Like most magical objects, his own magic reached out to it without conscious thought, though the connection took longer to cement than it usually would have. If he wasn’t on the brink of death, he would have waited longer to use it; given his magic a little time to restore itself before using it up again. The demonologist knew that it wouldn’t cause any _real_ problems with the spell, but it would give him quite a headache if he survived.

The instrument let out a few off-sounding notes before a melody formed, the music as instinctual as his magic often was. That was one of the benefits of the items having their own magic: they tended to carve the directions right into your brain, just to make sure you couldn’t make a cock-up of it. Constantine let his eyes fall shut as he played the ancient instrument, his chest growing unbearably tight until the pressure finally let up.

Leonard was idly sipping his refilled drink as he let John do his thing, waiting for the man to relax and put the instrument down before he spoke again, “All better, then?”

Constantine cleared his throat, “Right as rain.”

“Good,” was the simple response, the thief downing his drink before placing it onto the table once more. “What is the next step then, _Angel?”_

The exorcist ran a hand over his face with a sigh, “You’re never gonna let that _go_ , are you?”

“I think it is going to stick,” Len answered with a small dismissive shrug, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, next move is to call the damn deity that started this mess,” he answered, as if the nickname hadn’t been said.

The villain made a gesture for him to go on, _“And?_ Who is it?”

Constantine let out a long yawn, leaning further back in his chair, “Apollo.”

_“Apollo,”_ Leonard repeated, throwing any rationality out of the window for this situation in general. “Alright, what the hell do we need to do that, then?”

“I’m bloody knackered, so nothing until tomorrow at least, mate.”

“That’s too _bad,”_ the thief drawled out slowly, moving toward the exit, “I guess I will have to find my own motel room then.”

The blond shrugged, “Don’t get sick.”

“Don’t fucking die,” was the final response, Len opening the door before shutting it completely without waiting for a response.

Constantine sighed, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. Never a dull moment, huh?

* * *

  
  


Waking up in a random motel bed, Leonard set his feet onto the floor after popping his sore back. The previous day had been a rather long one, him having to travel through a few states to simply _arrive_. Getting away from his crew was a little hard, especially since they wanted to go on whatever ‘secret trip’ he was taking on his own, but he was eventually able to desert them after they passed out in their respective rooms. Sure, he would get an earful after he had gotten back, but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with it now.

The disease that John had spoken about seemed to have barely infected him yet, which he inferred was part of the magic-user’s doing. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t take care of himself or that he wasn’t used to pain, so Len wasn’t too sure on why the man did that for him. Coughing up blood wasn’t anything new, afterall.

Deciding to brush off the topic to instead get off the bed, the villain pulled out the change of clothes he had brought with him. He pulled on the long-sleeved clothing without much care to the plethora of scars scattered across his skin, the bad memories that they brought up only serving as a detrimental thought to his plan for the day. After strapping on his cold gun to his hip and putting his shoes on, Leonard made his way back toward the shop he was in the other day. 

He didn’t care much for the bloodstains on the sidewalk from -what he assumed was- the plague, and continued onward toward his target destination. Sick people did not bother him, though healthy people didn’t do so either. He was not too sure on why he was helping Constantine in the first place; his role as a villain set in stone, no heroic acts staining his record save for whatever _this_ may be. Villainy brought a rush to his life that he would not trade for anything even though it had been ingrained into him by his father, but somehow helping John with his magic gave him the same kinds of thrills.

_Even_ if it helped people, as much as he hated to admit it.

Pulling the store door open once he found that it wasn’t locked, his blue eyes carefully scanned the area to find just a simple empty space with the Golden Lyre from the other day upon it. The thief figured that he would wait for the blond to get back from whatever he was doing and instead grabbed another drink from the cabinet.

_Day drinking._ His favorite activity.

After a time, the bell on the door chimed as the exorcist himself pushed the door open, carrying a stack of books in his arms. He continued muttering something to himself in another language before trailing off as he noticed the villain.

“Oh,” the blond said eloquently, “you’re here.”

“You say that as if it is a _bad_ thing,” Len stated drily, bringing his drink and his glass to the cluttered table nonchalantly.

“Wasn’t expecting you to stick around,” Constantine commented with a shrug, moving to set the books on a nearby table. “Not exactly the safest city in the country, mate.”

“A promise is a promise. I don’t break deals, and I said I would come back,” he said as if it were obvious, sitting down at one of the rugged chairs and taking a sip of his drink.

The demonologist sighed, glancing at the villain briefly before focusing back on the book he had flipped open, “What’s the point of that?”

“I brought you the lyre so I get to stay for however long I please. Besides, if I am a carrier of this current plague, it is quite possible that I would give it to other people if I _did_ leave. We can’t have that, now can we?” he questioned, suppressing a cough with little difficulty.

John took his trenchcoat off, letting it hang over the back of a chair before muttering something underneath his breath. When he stopped, he went back to the book he had been skimming as if nothing had happened, replying to Leonard’s earlier question, “Suppose you’re right this time.”

The thief narrowed his eyes questioningly, “What the hell are you muttering about?”

“Working out a spell,” he answered with a shrug, not looking up from the text.

Leonard let out a low hum, questioning after a few seconds, “Is it for your summoning of _Apollo?”_

“Yeah,” the blond agreed distractedly, turning a few pages in quick succession.

A slow blink at the dry reply, “Do you want me to get anything for you for that?”

The exorcist shook his head, a brief pause before he answered offhandedly, “Should have everything already.”

Len sat back further into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest as he stated in the same, slightly _joking_ manner as before to see if the blond was listening to him, “Want to fuck?”

The blond shook his head slightly, but gave no other indication of having heard the villain speak.

Rolling his eyes at the expected response, the thief took another swig of his drink so that it would be empty before filling it up again, not bothering to say anything else until he had the other’s full attention.

Another few minutes passed before the man in question raised his head, looking to the other with narrowed eyes, “Did you say something earlier?”

“Nope, nothing important,” the villain easily denied, placing his drink on the table.

Constantine shrugged, looking back at his book before rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt farther up his arms, “I think I’ve got the right circle, now.”

Slowly standing up from his spot before walking around the table, he raised a sole eyebrow, “Right circle as in a summoning type of circle?”

“Precisely,” the Brit answered with a slight smirk.

Folding his arms behind his back as he looked down at the book, he eventually glanced up expectantly, “Teach me, then. How are we doing this?”

John left his book lying open on the table, opening a cabinet and pulling out a single piece of chalk. “The circle channels the magic in a particular direction. Different circle, different telephone line,” he explained casually, pushing aside the rug on the floor to make space in the middle of the room.

“So, essentially, this is Apollo’s phone number,” he restated simply, picking the rug up to move it against the wall.

“Basically,” the exorcist agreed, raising an eyebrow at Len’s assistance but not commenting on it. “Doesn’t have to be chalk, but it’s a better conduit than anything else - besides blood.”

Another hum, “I don’t think you have any blood on hand, unless you want to use _mine.”_

John gave him an appraising look, “Is that an offer? I can think of a few better things than a ritual.”

He subtly raised his arm to cough into his elbow, “I think this is something that should be done _first, John.”_

The blond gave a cheeky grin in response, “Worth a shot.” He stared at the open space on the floor for a few moments before leaning over and beginning to sketch a large chalk circle.

Staying out of the way of the drawing, the villain eventually changed the subject as he waited for the task to be done, “How are you feeling since yesterday?”

“Better,” the exorcist replied, glancing at the villain before continuing with his drawing. “Are you feeling sick at all?” he questioned, stopping briefly to look the other over.

He shrugged lightly, leaning against the open wooden cabinet, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

John let out an audibly sharp breath, scratching at the flooring with more force than necessary. “Bloody fantastic,” he expressed in a hiss, beginning to make more intricate details within the circle.

The thief raised an eyebrow at the reaction, “Why are you pissed off now?”

“Oh blimey, I don’t know!” Constantine replied sarcastically, not pausing to look at the other.

“I have been through enough to where a little _cold_ won’t do anything to me, _John._ I don’t see what there is to worry about.”

The exorcist sat back on his heels, setting down the chalk to rub the bridge of his nose, “It’s not a _cold._ It’s not a fucking _cold,_ Snart.”

“It feels like one at the moment which is all that matters. We are about to summon the thing that is going to save everybody, so how _I_ feel would not matter in ten minutes.”

“It’ll bloody matter when you’re dead,” the warlock muttered, returning to his task of drawing.

“I’m not dying _today, Angel,”_ Len dismissed, smirking at the nickname that he would make sure would stick, “No matter _how_ much the world may want it.”

John laid the chalk on the floor, wiping the dust from his hands as he finished the design. Stepping back over to the table, he read through the pages he had left open, ignoring the other.

“Are you _really_ back to ignoring me? It is a rather childish way to be mad at somebody, John,” he pointed out, eyes glancing down toward the unfamiliar book anyway.

“My _sincerest_ apologies,” the exorcist huffed sardonically, flipping the page.

Pushing off of the cabinet to instead get a closer look at the book over the blond’s shoulder, the villain took the opportunity to semi-jokingly say, “Are you giving me the cold shoulder, John?”

Constantine shut the book loudly, “I’m trying to, yeah.”

Rolling his eyes at the abrupt answer to his question, the brunet put his hands on his hips, “Because I don’t care about fucking _dying?”_

“Because-” John stopped, shaking his head, “You know what? Nevermind. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

He narrowed his eyes lightly before he forced himself to drop the subject as he took a step back, looking down at the markings on the ground, “Let’s just do this so I can get out of your hair, then.”

The exorcist pushed his sleeves farther up his elbows, walking back to the circle he had drawn. He remained standing, but held his hands out in front of him, staring at the chalk lines.

Glancing between the chalk lines and then toward Constantine, he raised an eyebrow expectantly, “Is there anything you want me to do here, then?”

The lines gained a soft glow that grew brighter as the warlock narrowed his eyes at it, “Don’t stand too close and don’t look directly at it.”

“What am I supposed to look at, then? _You?”_

Constantine raised an eyebrow, glancing at the villain, “If you fancy it, I suppose.”

The blond returned his focus to the circle in front of him, beginning a quiet incantation under his breath. The words grew louder, to the point where the exorcist was nearly shouting them, the light from the circle becoming blinding. The artificial lights on the ceiling flickered before going out, the figure of a man apparent within the confines of the circle.

John let out an audible sigh before addressing the man, “Care to fix your mess, Apollo?”

“What kind of mess are you talkin’ about?” came a deep male voice, the answer prompting another long-suffering sigh from the blond.

“The whole bloody _plague_ outside, mate,” Constantine said sharply, using a hand to gesture toward the door.

The apparent deity turned his head, looking at the door in clear confusion, “I don’t see anything.”

Len took a sip out of the glass he snagged from the table during the conversation, scoffing at the words, “I didn’t know Gods were blind as well as dumb.”

“Open your eyes,” John huffed, briefly running a hand through his hair. “When was the last time you came down here?” At the god’s blank look the exorcist clarified, “Down to the human plane.”

Apollo blinked, bringing a hand up to his chin as if he were in deep thought, “Well there was that time I raced Artemis, but she beat me… I think that was a century ago? There was also that time I tried to bring a dog back to Mount Olympus, but Artemis said I couldn’t keep it. But I think that was like, at least a thousand years ago… Wait, do you mean recently? Uh… That time I cured the flu in this same place?”

Constantine pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling harshly, “Yes, that would be the one.”

“How are the humans doing?” Apollo asked happily, “I made them better!”

“That’s the problem,” the demonologist started, his tone changing to match the one he had used with the child earlier, “they’ve actually gotten worse instead.”

The god’s features conveyed pure shock, “Why? Did you call me here to fix them again?”

Constantine took a step back, grabbing the lyre off the table without turning his back to the circle, “That’s exactly right. I brought you a little something to get the job done.”

Apollo perked up, making a grabbing motion without crossing the chalk line, “Is that mine? I remember when Hermes gave me that lyre and I said I wouldn’t lose it but then I lost it anyway! He wasn’t mad at me though, so that was good.”

“Take it,” the exorcist said, interrupting the deity before his talking became lengthier. “Heal us up, will you?”

“Of course! Healing’s what I’m good at!” the god answered cheerfully before playing the instrument much more naturally than John had.

Upon hearing the notes, Leonard’s chest began to feel lighter than before, no longer having the feeling of cotton balls stuck in his lungs. To say that this was a major relief would be an understatement, but there was a clear difference between the two states he was in. Eyes glancing over at the blond to make sure he was still alright, the thief eventually looked away after confirming it, releasing a quiet sigh.

Constantine glanced toward the villain before turning back to the deity, “Nice work, mate. Looks like you fixed everything.”

The god smiled widely, “Really? That’s awesome! Do I get to keep this? ‘Cause technically it’s mine in the first place, but if you want it back that’s okay too.”

The exorcist raised a placating hand, “It’s all yours.”

Apollo cradled the lyre close to his chest before vanishing in another bright flash of light.

Waiting a few seconds to make sure the god had fully disappeared before looking toward the other fully, he eventually stated in his usual manner, “That was a lot more _chill_ than the last one I watched.”

“It was _Apollo,”_ John said flatly, as if that explained everything.

Len blinked slowly, _“So?”_

“Big muscles but an empty head. One of the original airheads.”

“With all the myths they have, that makes _sense,”_ he dismissed, placing the now empty glass on the table.

John shrugged, “Not all celestials are dull, but a good number of them are.”

“They may be dull, but you aren’t. Which brings us to the last matter at hand,” the villain turned toward him fully with an expectant expression on his face, “Why the hell were you pissed off at me before?”

The exorcist loosened his tie, taking a seat in the usual chair, “Does it bloody matter?”

“I don’t think it is wise to end this on a bad note,” was the cryptic response, Len glancing down at his hand as if he were bored, _“especially_ when you still owe me that favor in the future.”

“Who said anything about a bad note?” the blond questioned innocently.

He gestured toward the other, “Your whole _attitude_ did.”

_“Very_ specific. Let me get right on that.”

“And _that,”_ the thief sighed loudly, “is what I was _talking about.”_

The demonologist pulled a cigarette from his jacket’s pocket, sticking it between his lips before fishing for his lighter, “Dunno what you were expecting, mate.”

Plucking the cigarette from the other’s lips, Len kept it far enough away so that the other couldn’t grab it automatically, “I was expecting _answers.”_

John visibly clenched his jaw before replying, “Then you were _sorely_ mistaken.”

“So you are going to pout instead of telling me what the hell is wrong with you?”

Constantine crossed his arms with a huff, one hand still flicking the lighter open and closed as he deflected, “There’s nothing wrong with me. The plague’s all cured.”

“You were pissed off before you summoned Apollo, and it was definitely not because of the plague,” Leonard dismissed, watching the other’s hand movements closely.

“Nice deduction, Sherlock. Really took a _great mind_ for _that_ mystery,” the blond snarked back, continuing the motion with little thought.

“Fine, if you want to act like this then I won’t stick around. It’s not _my_ problem,” the villain said coldly, walking around the cluttered table to grab his abandoned coat on his chair.

The exorcist scoffed, “Oh, so when I warned you not to go into the city, you just decided to anyway for _fun?”_

_“Yes, John,”_ he confirmed, slinging his jacket over his shoulder before rolling his eyes, “that _is_ what I am known to do.”

“Well that’s bloody fantastic then. Do you _ever_ listen to anyone besides yourself?”

“No, not really,” Len shrugged, adjusting his stance so that he wasn’t fully facing Constantine. “Is that why you have an _attitude?_ Because I didn’t _listen_ to you?”

Constantine huffed, shifting in his seat, “You could have died.”

A slow blink, _“So?”_

“It would have been my fault!” the exorcist exclaimed more loudly, sinking further into his chair.

“Technically it would have been mine because I was the one who made the decision, _John._ I did not get that sick, anyway.”

“I’m the one who bloody _called_ you here in the first place!”

_“I’m_ the one who accepted your invitation, so it still would have been my fault either way.”

Constantine let out a frustrated breath, “Nevermind. Who gives a damn about what _I_ have to say anyway?”

Calculatingly putting his coat down back onto the chair, the thief crossed his arms over his chest before reluctantly starting, “It wouldn’t be your fault, John. There would be no logical reason for you to take the blame for that shit.”

“The longer I stick around the worse it is. Should’ve just handled it on my own,” the demonologist said, more to himself than the villain.

“How the hell do you make it _worse?_ You couldn’t have gotten the lyre even if you tried, anyway.”

Constantine raised a hand, gesturing to an empty corner of the room, “Ask an echo. Take your pick, there’s… ten of them in here.”

“I don’t care about other people’s opinions,” he drawled out as if it were obvious, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. “As you said before, I only listen to myself.”

“Spirits don’t follow me around for no reason, Snart.”

“You say that as if I care, _Angel._ They seem like the usual asshole, to me.”

The warlock ran a hand through his hair, “Stop _calling_ me that.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Len denied easily, placing the cigarette in between his teeth to claim it as his own instead before slowly stalking up to the other. “Was _that_ your only issue, or was there more?”

The blond scoffed, “Getting an incurable disease didn’t bother you at all? Aren’t you just _cold-hearted.”_

He smirked at the pun, putting a hand into his front pocket, “The idea of death doesn’t bother me. Never has, never will.”

“It should,” the exorcist said seriously.

He directed a slow blink toward the blond, “Why?”

“I can think of a few people who wouldn’t want you dying on them,” Constantine replied casually, flipping his lighter open and closed as he spoke.

“‘A few’ seems a little too _generous,”_ was the short remark, Len holding out his cigarette as if he were waiting for the blond to light it for him.

John raised an eyebrow but held out the aflame lighter anyway, “Never know.”

“I don’t associate myself with very many _people,_ John. _That_ is how I know.”

“Still,” the exorcist argued with a shrug, “I bet your _associates_ prefer you alive.”

“I think Mick would much rather not have me around so he has no _impulse control_ again,” Len dismissed again, placing the cigarette back into his mouth.

“I wouldn’t know,” the blond huffed, pulling another cigarette from his pocket.

Letting out a low hum before grabbing his jacket from off the chair again, the villain took a small drag, “Maybe you would if you came by more often instead of being so _cold_ about it. You know about _one_ of my safe houses, at least.”

“Guarantee it’d be less _safe_ with me hanging around,” Constantine commented, lighting his cigarette with his lighter before shoving the metal back into his coat pocket.

The thief smirked lightly, “Who says I like _safe?”_

The demonologist raised an eyebrow, “Oh? What _do_ you like, then?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” he replied cryptically, pulling on his coat as he made a grab for his abandoned duffle bag on the floor.

“You like secrets, I would assume,” he commented drily, maintaining his position.

He released a small tongue click, taking the cigarette out of his mouth to instead hold it between his fingers, “Not when it is kept from _me,_ at least, which is why you’re so…” a small pause as he debated on a word to use before deciding not to be nice, _“annoying_ sometimes.”

“Annoying?” Constantine shook his head, “I’m sure you’ve got a stronger word for me than _that.”_

_“Compelling,”_ he added on confidently.

A blink, “What do you mean by that?”

“Maybe ask that when you see me again and I _may_ give you an answer,” the brunet pushed off with ease, watching John carefully. “You have my number, anyway. Shouldn’t be hard.”

“Never know what might happen between now and then,” the exorcist said suggestively.

A low hum, “Then I suppose you will forever not know what I meant, then. It does not matter to me either way.”

“Guess I won’t,” the blond agreed, “unless you decide to cash in that favour of yours.”

“That is rather unlikely for the time being. I work _alone,”_ he said in his usual dark manner, turning on his heel as he made his way toward the door before saying in dismissal, “I’ll see you in _snow_ time, _John.”_

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Part three in the series will come out soon! Thanks for reading! :)


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